Str8te Boys

Excerpt:


Mav frowned at his roommate. Any other guy would have backed off at the dangerous look in his eyes but he knew Duke didn’t back down for anyone. Neither did Mav as a general rule, even though he wished he could. But he couldn’t, because for some reason he was still hard—harder than ever in fact—and if he jumped off the couch now, his state of arousal would show. There was nothing to do but sit there and play the stupid game until his annoying best friend gave it up and moved on to other things.

“Gay chicken,” Duke whispered, leaning in. The idea was for two guys to get as close to kissing as they could. The one to pull away first was the loser. Duke always won because he was a fierce competitor where any sport was concerned—be it soccer, baseball, basketball, football, table tennis…or gay chicken.

“Come on, Duke, stop it,” Mav murmured as his roommate got closer and closer. He could see the little gold and green flecks in Duke’s chocolate brown eyes, could smell the faintly spicy aftershave he wore and under it, the warm scent of his skin.

“Can’t stop unless you give,” Duke murmured, moving in. “Gotta play to win, Mav. And you know I always win.”

Mav sighed, still looking deeply into his best friend’s eyes. For some reason it reminded him of the picture he’d seen on the website of the two guys looking at each other. “Yeah, you always have to win, fag,” he muttered, not sure if he was angry or…something else. By now his c*** had gone from half-hard to full-alert status and he didn’t dare move. Or maybe he didn’t want to? It was all very confusing. He’d never let Duke’s mouth get this close to his own before. Always in the past he’d pulled away, turned his head, admitting that the game was getting to be too much for him, too intense. But this time he felt frozen in time and space, helpless to do anything but watch his best friend’s infuriatingly handsome face get closer.

Duke’s warm pink lips brushed his gently at first and then more firmly. He held the kiss for a long, breathless moment before pulling back a fraction of an inch. “Who’s a fag now?” His deep voice was low and intimate. “Do you give, roomie?”

Mav felt like someone had stuck a lighting rod down the front of his pants and sent a bolt of electricity straight through his c***. What the hell was wrong with him? Duke’s posturing and games had never affected him this way before. Well, not until recently, anyway. He thought again about jumping off the couch and running up to his room. But that would look weird and besides, his hard-on would be way too obvious, even if he moved fast. He was stuck, pinned to the couch.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t give?” he asked, hating the rough, breathless tone in his own voice.

“Maybe nothing. Maybe this.” Duke leaned forward again. This time when their mouths met Mav felt something warm and wet brush against the seam of his lips. His tongue, he realized, a shiver running through him. Damn, he’s actually licking me!

He opened his mouth to protest and suddenly Duke’s tongue was right there, probing delicately between his lips, forcing him to react.

Without knowing why he was doing it, Mav reached up and took a handful of his best friend’s spiky blond hair. Pulling Duke closer, he pressed his own tongue deep into the warm, luscious mouth covering his own. Duke tasted like cinnamon and beer and heat. He tasted delicious.

Then Duke was pulling away abruptly, pretending to spit and wipe his mouth. “Dude, you kissed me! You were actually frenching me or some shit!”

Mav frowned. “That’s what you get, asshole. Do you give?” he asked, trying to cover his own confusion. What just happened? Did I kiss him? What the hell?